Jaine Austen 8 - Killer Cruise (21 page)

I checked at the front desk, but the Pritchards had not yet arrived.

So I went back outside and called Lance on my cell. I dreaded to think what a long-distance international phone call would cost, but I’d checked my e-mails that morning and was determined to call a halt to our impending “wedding” before the invitations went out.

Thank heavens he picked up.

“Hi, sweetie,” he said, his voice faint but bubbly with excitement. “Your mom and I just got back from interviewing the most amazing florist. What a hottie! Fabulous abs, and peonies to die for! That’s what we’re going with for the wedding, by the way. Peonies.”

“Lance!” I shouted into the phone. Our connection wasn’t all that great and I had to cover my exposed ear to block out the sound from the mariachis. “There will be no peonies! There will be no wedding! I insist that you tell my mother the truth!”

“But, Jaine,” he whined, “I’m meeting so many great guys.”

“I don’t care how many guys you’re meeting, you’ve got to tell my mother the wedding is off.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go through with it? I’ll invite some straight guys. You might meet somebody, too!”

“Forget it, Lance. I do not intend to go trolling for dates at my own wedding.”

“Oh, all right,” he sulked.

“Promise you’ll tell my mom the truth?”

“I promise, I promise.” Then grudgingly he asked, “So how’s the cruise? Having fun?”

“Not exactly.”

“I told you it would be a disaster!” he gloated. “I want all the details.”

And before I knew it, I was spilling my guts to him at about a zillion dollars a minute, telling him all about Graham’s murder.

“It’s been incredibly frustrating. The captain won’t listen to a thing I say. The minute we get back to L.A. I’m going to the police and tell them everything I know.”

“Just be careful, okay?”

“Oh, I will. But I’d better hang up now, before I need a cosigner to pay my phone bill. And tell Daddy I absolutely forbid him to do one more repair on my apartment!”

“Will do. Oops. Gotta go. There’s your mom on the other line.”

I hung up, and the minute I did, I realized I had company. I turned to see the Pritchards standing just a few feet away from me. I hadn’t heard them coming over the noise of the mariachis.

Damn. What if they heard me yapping about the murder? I scanned their faces, checking their reactions. Kyle and Nesbitt were glaring at me, but then they were always glaring at me. Robbie was smiling tentatively. (At least he was smiling—which was more than I deserved after my nutty behavior last night.) And Maggie wasn’t looking at me at all, busy applying sunblock to her already red nose.

I was happy to see that Emily had made it out of her cabin and had joined them on their expedition. She stood at Nesbitt’s side, staring vacantly out to sea.

“Gee, I didn’t know you guys were here.”

“We were waiting for you to finish your phone call,” Nesbitt snapped.

Emily turned to me with a wan smile.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “We haven’t been waiting long.”

As we headed into the dining room Robbie pulled me aside.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Sure.”

“I only ask because you were acting sort of strange last night.”

Strange? Moi? Just because I was hopping on and off an elevator like a bipolar bunny?

“Oh, no, I’m fine. Just fine.”

I plastered on my brightest smile.

“Good,” he said, gracing me with a high-octane grin of his own. “Glad to hear it. And I’m glad you found them.”

“Found what?”

“Your earrings.”

“Oh, right. My earrings. Of course.”

My God, Jaine. Pay attention!

We joined the others at a primo window table with a breathtaking view of the water below.

A bevy of waiters and busboys descended on us, passing out menus, wine lists, rolls, and bottled water.

I opened the menu and, like a high-cholesterol homing pigeon, zeroed in on the Petit Filet Mignon. For days I’d been lusting after a nice juicy steak. And there it was—just the way I liked it—with shoestring fries and crisp onion rings.

But I couldn’t possibly order it. It was the most expensive thing on the menu. And I’d be nuts to eat a big meal before putting on a bathing suit. My waist could not afford to expand one more millimeter. No, I’d do the sensible thing and get a healthy green salad, hold the dressing.

“And for you, senorita?”

The waiter was at my side, his pad at the ready.

“I’ll have the filet mignon.”

I know. I’m impossible. But what the heck? Once Robbie saw me in my nunsuit, it was all over anyway. What did it matter if I had a steak and fries under my belt?

“Are you crazy?” Kyle squawked. “A steak before scuba diving? You want to sink like an anchor?”

“Most unwise,” Nesbitt chimed in, lips pursed in disapproval.

“Actually,” Robbie said, shooting me an apologetic smile, “it’s probably not the best idea.”

With heavy heart, I kissed my steak good-bye and ordered the Cabo salad, which turned out to be an anemic plate of greens and veggies with a few shards of shredded chicken on top.

“So how did you spend your morning, Jaine?” Maggie asked as I rooted around my salad in search of croutons.

“Oh, just lazing around,” I said, saving the details of my bathing suit fiasco for a therapist. “What were you guys up to?”

“We went on a tour of a factory where we watched the artists make handblown glass. So fascinating!”

“Yes, that was interesting, wasn’t it?” Emily said, a spark of her old enthusiasm returning to her voice. “I’ve always loved glass collectibles. Remember that wonderful factory outside of Venice, Leona? Such beautiful goblets. Graham and I are going to stop off there on our honeymoo—”

She blinked in confusion.

“Oh, dear. For a moment I forgot.”

Then tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered that she and Graham were going nowhere together.

“Excuse me, everyone,” she said, her voice cracking. “I need to powder my nose.”

“I’ll go with you,” Nesbitt said.

“No, you stay here, dear. I’d rather be alone.”

And with that, she got up from the table and hurried toward the ladies’ room.

“Poor thing,” Maggie sighed.

“Time heals all wounds,” Nesbitt intoned solemnly, as if she’d come up with that ditty on her own.

“Ms. Nesbitt is right,” Kyle said. “By next week, she’ll have forgotten all about it.”

Robbie shook his head, disgusted. “You’re an idiot, Kyle.”

Hear, hear!
I felt like shouting.

“I won’t dignify that with a response,” Kyle said.

The two brothers exchanged glares as the mariachis played gaily in the background. Everyone proceeded to pick at their food—everyone except Kyle, who wasn’t going to let his aunt’s tears get in the way of his lunch. I gave up my search for croutons in my salad and wasn’t at all sad to bid it adieu when one of the busboys whisked it away.

After a while Emily returned to the table, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

Kyle put on his caring face.

“Are you okay, Aunt Em?”

“I’m fine.” She forced a smile.

“You know what they say,” he cooed, taking her hand in his. “Everything always happens for the best. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I had Graham checked out by a detective agency. They e-mailed me their report this morning. He was a complete fraud.” This said with a smug nod. “Never worked at British Petroleum. Was a ship’s steward all his life. Cleaned toilets for a living.

“I hate to say this, Auntie,” he went on, not hating it at all, “but all he wanted was your money.”

Emily sat up rigid in her chair.

“Then you two had a lot in common,” she said, yanking her hand from his.

Kyle blanched under his country club tan.

“You think I don’t know what you’re really like?” Emily said, with glacial calm. “Fawning all over me, counting the days till I die and you inherit my money. I understand you all too well, Kyle. And now it’s time you understood me.”

By now Kyle’s jaw was slack with disbelief.

“You say one more word against the man I loved, and you’ll never see another penny of my money again. Is that clear?”

He nodded numbly.

Then Emily picked up her spoon and calmly began stirring her coffee.

Way to go, Aunt Em!

If I could, I would’ve given her a standing ovation.

Chapter 20

W
e rode over to our “Scuba Adventure” in a private van the Pritchards had hired for the day. I sat next to Robbie in the backseat, hoping he couldn’t hear my stomach growling. It wasn’t used to salad for lunch.

I nodded intently as he talked about a scuba expedition he’d taken in Tahiti, but I didn’t hear a word, my mind paralyzed at the thought of my impending doom.

Any minute now he’d be getting his first look at me and my cellulite in my nunsuit. I could practically see cupid putting away his bow and arrow and heading off to greener pastures.

All too soon we got to the beach and were herded off to cabanas to change.

The good news is I did
not
have to appear in public in an unflattering bathing suit.

That’s because my unflattering bathing suit was hidden underneath an even more unflattering wet suit, a black neoprene monstrosity that revealed every lump and bump in my body.

Why oh why hadn’t I come up with an excuse to get out of this damn excursion?

I prayed for a shark sighting, an earthquake, a tsunami—anything to shut down the beach.

When Mother Nature did not oblige with any natural disasters, I took a deep breath and headed out to join the others.

It was a blazingly hot day and the beach was crowded with tourists and locals alike.

Instantly I began sweating in my neoprene straightjacket.

My only consolation, I thought, as I trudged along in the sand, was that at least the less-than-svelte Maggie would look as ghastly as I did.

But then I saw her, still in her street clothes, stretched out alongside Emily in a comfy lounge chair under the shade of a huge thatched umbrella. I wasn’t surprised to see Emily sitting it out. But what was Maggie doing here?

“Aren’t you going diving?” I asked her as I approached their umbrella.

“I decided to keep Aunt Emily company.”

What a great excuse. Why hadn’t I thought of it? How I longed to change back into my elastic-waist shorts and plop down next to them.

“Have a good dive, dear!” Emily said.

“Oh, I will,” I lied with a sick smile.

Still praying for a last-minute tsunami, I trekked off to join the other Pritchards. They were standing at the shore with the rest of the tour divers—all of whom were in depressingly better shape than I was. One of the gals, a hawk-faced dame with abs of steel, smugly announced that it was her eightieth birthday. This is what she did on her eightieth birthday? Had the woman never heard of birthday cake and margaritas?

I studiously avoided eye contact with Robbie, afraid of the disappointment I was bound to see in his eyes. I couldn’t help taking a peek at his bod, though, which was taut and trim. As was Ms. Nesbitt’s. I was hoping she’d have at least a love handle or two. But she was sculpted tight as a drum, probably from all those hours of sexual calisthenics. Only Kyle showed signs of a burgeoning martini belly.

Miguel, our bronzed Adonis of a scuba instructor, looked me over and frowned.

“I take it you’ve never been scuba diving before.”

“Oh, yes, scads of times. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve got your wet suit on backward.”

Oh, groan. How could I have been such an idiot?

“Um. That’s the way we wear them in Hermosa,” I said, referring to my hometown of Hermosa Beach.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t wear it that way here.”

“I’ll go back to my cabana and change.”

“We really don’t have time for that,” Miguel said, checking his watch.

And so, in a moment that haunts my dreams to this day, I had to stand there in front of everyone and struggle out of my wet suit. Which meant that Robbie got to see me in my nunsuit, after all.

As I righted my wet suit faux pas, Miguel began handing out the rest of our scuba gear. I never realized there was so much involved in a simple dip underwater. It’s all très technical, so I won’t bore you with the details, but eventually I wound up with an air tank strapped to my back and enough connecting hoses to open my own garden supply store.

Around my waist I wore a tire-like contraption to keep me afloat. (Just what I needed—more inches!) Top it all off with fins and face mask, and voila—instant Creature from the Black Lagoon.

When we were all strapped in and hosed up, Miguel gathered us around in a circle.

“I realize you’re all experienced divers,” Miguel said, with a dubious glance in my direction, “but I want to go over a few basic rules before we begin.”

I paid frantic attention to the basic rules. The most important of which was to press a little doohickey on my wrist (known as the “regulator” to bona fide scuba divers) when I needed air from the tank strapped to my back.

“All set, everybody?” Miguel said when he was through. “Are we ready for some fun?”

The only thing I was ready for was a nap. And possibly a brownie or three.

“You okay, Jaine?” Robbie asked as we waded out into the water.

“I’m fine,” I assured him, still not making eye contact.

By now we’d reached the sandbar where the water suddenly got deeper.

“Let’s do it!” Miguel shouted. “Follow me.”

This was it. Zero hour. I said a quick prayer and took the plunge.

Thanks to swimming lessons as a child (where I first discovered that Mr. Bathing Suit was not my friend), I already knew how to dive underwater. So I was actually able to follow the others.

Much to my relief, I managed to work the regulator thingie on my wrist, sending air through a hose to my mouth as I needed it. It took a minute or two to get used to breathing through my mouthpiece, but soon I began to relax and enjoy myself. All sorts of amazing fish were swimming past me.

Then Robbie swam up to me and waved. I waved back.